


oasis

by borys



Category: The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: M/M, Making Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 04:46:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16361093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borys/pseuds/borys
Summary: if i could exist in / a single moment, i would stay here, in this / darkened room, searching for light





	oasis

**Author's Note:**

> summary from the poem “objects” by rachana hegde
> 
> very light nsfw
> 
> edited 06/06/19

The weed was just beginning to cloud the peripheries of his mind when he felt a thigh against his.

He sent a sideways look at Boris, who was staring intently at the movie they were watching, The Shining. It was almost as if nothing had happened, but something had, because Theo and Boris were now pressed against each other from the waist down. 

Boris had his arms thrown over the back of Theo’s couch, pressed deep between two cushions. One arm, the one not lingering somewhere behind Theo’s head, held his own beer.

He looked over bemusedly. “Something on my face, Potter?” 

“No.” Theo said, whipping his head back towards the screen. 

“Mmhm.” 

It was barely a minute later that something ghosted over the back of his neck before raking through his hair. He froze.

Like one would do for a dog, Boris lovingly scratched his scalp. Slowly, his long fingers made circles through his blond hair, almost reaching one of the earpieces of his glasses. It was hard to not lean back into the touch.

He’s drunk, he told himself. He’s doing this because he’s drunk.

They continued like this for the rest of the movie, Theo trying not to be too responsive to the affection, afraid of it dissipating as soon as he made it real.

“Hair’s soft.” Boris murmured sleepily, as the credits rolled.

Theo blinked at the admission of what he was doing. “Uh…” 

“You’re so nervous. Why get nervous?” His tone was that of genuine interest, if not a little teasing. His scribbled-dark eyebrows quirked up. “Nothing we have not done before.”

It was only then, embarrassed from the truth, when Theo was able to turn to look at his best friend. It was no wonder that the girls who didn’t give Theo the time of day loved Boris. They often cooed at him, with acrylic nails digging into his skinny arms, saying that was pretty like a girl. When they did this, Boris flapped his hands dismissively at them, sometimes winking at Theo, as if to say, “Ridiculous, right?” 

“Fuck off.” 

“Can I kiss you?”

Theo’s whole body tensed, he went rigid. Boris tossed his now-empty beer bottle to the floor, and he brought his newly free hand over to touch Theo’s cheek lightly, cold fingers still wet with condensation. 

“You’re drunk, Boris, fuck off.” He tried to push him away with the hand that was squished between the two, but their weight immobilized him.

“Not an answer.” 

He wants to kiss him, or kill him, or maybe both. In the low light, his stony eyes look black. So beautiful, Theo thinks, he’s always been so fucking beautiful. 

He closes the gap between them almost besides himself, pressing his lips against Boris’. He closes his eyes on instinct. His lips are chapped. 

When he pulled back, Boris smiled in the nasty, shark-ish way of his, bearing all his teeth, before going back in.

The smart thing for Theo to do would be to stop, to pull away and tell Boris that he should sleep off whatever had possessed him. He could say he wasn’t into guys, that he wasn’t into Boris, that their friendship couldn’t withstand the weight of more sexuality than it was already under. He could pretend that their friendship already buckled under that weight, under crossfaded memories of unbuttoning his pants with shaking but sure hands.

He didn’t. He let him pull at his bottom lip with his thumb, open his mouth, lick the front of his teeth. A shiver went down his spine, cold and exciting, like water running down his back. 

Boris swung a skinny leg over Theo’s lap, coming to straddle him. They were both only wearing boxers, skin against skin. Theo willed himself to not get hard, but he could tell it was failing already. 

This was his plan the whole time, he realized as he felt Boris smile against his lips. Bastard. 

He felt Boris’ lips leave his, and he almost unconsciously whined before he realized his lips were travelling down. 

“Oh, god.” He said as Boris attached himself to his neck, sucking lightly at the soft skin under his jaw. He felt him chuckle, and lifted his head to give him easier access. 

“Very sensitive, yes?” He whispers against his skin, lightly rolling his hips down. Judging the reaction, he chuckles. “Cute.” 

Theo could feel his face turn completely red. “Jesus, Boris.” He knew Boris was more experienced than him, in everything but especially sex, but felt that, judging by Boris’s tone, it was perhaps endearing to him. 

“That’s the name.” He said drily, before moving to another spot on his neck, lower. His cold, Slavic sense of humor never found itself out of place. 

He faintly realized Boris was giving him hickeys, that he would have to embark on some serious efforts to make sure neither Xandra or his dad saw the marks. This thought, however, washed away under the tide of pleasure. 

A hand made its way up his shirt, a palm running up each rib with purpose. Theo unwillingly let out a hum of pleasure, wrapped his arms around Boris’s waist and pulled him even closer. 

Boris separated himself from him for a second and lifted up Theo’s chin with his hand. “Good kisser. Like a girl. Who gets hard.”

Besides himself, Theo laughed, throwing his head back.


End file.
